


The Last Thing

by Britpacker



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-29 00:37:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3875827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An away mission goes horribly wrong.  Malcolm makes a confession - but is it all too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This starts off with more angst than is my usual style! Posted over at Warp 5 Complex a while ago.

“Look out!”

The world tipped sideways, the harsh lights of the temple blurring. Something soft gave way beneath his weight as Reed fell, something that emitted the strangled squeal of a wounded pig. Only when a thick encrustation of jewels around the midriff pressed into his hip did the lieutenant’s overcrowded mind identify the elaborate padded costume of the High Priest of Calidi and the massive bulk of the bipedal whale beneath.

Voices swirled over him as he rolled sideways, screwing up his eyes against the flashing lights that erupted from a dozen different directions. Weapons? Commander Tucker with his bloody camera for the fiftieth time in the day? A satin shod foot landed mere millimetres from his face and he rolled again, clawing the marble floor against a rush of adrenaline-fuelled dizziness. “Captain, the guards!”

He heard himself. Nobody else seemed to. His vision was briefly blurred by the surge of heaving bodies, flailing limbs and those thrice-benighted bloody lights. Somebody leaned across them, blotting the harshest glare. He wanted to get up, perhaps if someone offered a hand...

“Oh, God.” The voice was familiar – reassuring despite the panic twisting its usually languid syllables. “Cap’n, gimme a hand here!”

Seasick. He’d never been seasick before. The Old Fart would never let him hear the end of it if he was seasick on dry land.

“Jesus.” That was better: Captain Archer steadying the ship as usual, but he sounded shocked, and when they tried to stand, he staggered. “Archer to Enterprise! We’ve got wounded down here – have Phlox standing by.”

Wounded? The High Priest? The universe wobbled again, and the thought was lost.

“Easy, Malcolm.” Something firm and springy – a good mattress, perhaps – gave beneath him. “Oh, God. Somebody gimme somethin’ – there’s so much blood.”

He couldn’t see any. When he tried to turn sideways, tunnel walls rushed in around him and he couldn’t see a thing. 

Somebody retched. 

Him.

“Oh.”

The small syllable emerged bloodily, staining his lips. That was odd. No pain. 

Just a dull, disconnected feeling; a blurriness at the corners of his eyes. He blinked, and for an instant things cleared.

“Just breathe, Malcolm.” Warmth from the words fanned his brow. Trip Tucker’s honey-tanned face hung inverted over him, the level, well-moulded features weirdly scrunched. Strong arms were lifting him – supporting him, Reed noticed dreamily, against that deep, solid Southern chest. “Stay with me, Lieutenant, you hear? I’m givin’ you an order. Stay with me.”

Fear. Trip didn’t show it often. “Fisher, there’s a pressure pad in the med kit. C’mon, warp five, dammit!”

He tried to object – snarling at subordinates wasn’t proper – but the words wouldn’t come. Something was bubbling, hot tar in his chest. He needed to cough.

Thick, coppery fluid coated his teeth. “Sssshhhh, it’s alright, I’ve got you, we’re goin’ home.”

Home. A nice word. Safe.

The shuttle swayed, caught by the storms of the upper ionosphere. The strength that cradled him stiffened to absorb the blow but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t feel a thing.

No pain. He kept remembering he should be surprised by that. Just that sickly gurgling sensation uncomfortably low in his chest. Drowning.

He was dimly aware that should frighten him. 

Fuzzy shapes hovered, but as his peripheral vision began to fade Reed decided against trying to identify them. Home. They were taking him home to die.

Trip had him.

Something hot and damp skittered over his face and he forced his heavy eyelids to lift. His protector was leaning over – shielding him from all that nauseating motion, always so kind, dear, generous Trip – and despite the rolling banks of fog inside his skull, one thing was clear.

Trip Tucker was crying.

He couldn’t allow that – he wasn’t worth it. “Hrip,” he croaked, and by a miracle his hand did what he wanted, lifting awkwardly toward those gorgeous, hazy golden features. “’salright. I—“

His chest spasmed painfully. Somewhere, a long way away, somebody whimpered.

“Ssshhh, Malcolm, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” Perhaps it was his hearing, Reed decided dreamily. Trip’s voice at least was crystal clear. “You’ve gotta hold on, you hear me? Phlox is standin’ by, and…”

Dying didn’t seem so bad now. Trip was crying – which was bad, he knew he shouldn’t be glad about anyone being upset. But it meant Trip would miss him.

And that made it important that he understood. Clarity pierced the gathering gloom like a steel blade and, swallowing the strong metallic liquid that stung his tongue, Malcolm forced a few words out. “Glad – it’s you.”

“Don’t try to talk.” When Trip leaned nearer the terrible clarity of his narrowed focus swam, and momentarily he knew real fear. “Just breathe, Malcolm. Focus on me, you hear?”

He so wanted to obey – to make Trip happy he’d do anything – but the fog was rolling closer, his hold on consciousness failing. “Glad,” he mumbled again. “The last thing... so glad.”

The sound of a raw, inhuman scream of _“Phlox!”_ accompanied him on the slide into nothingness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're back in a very familiar place, but it could have been worse. Sickbay's a step up on the morgue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You knew I wouldn't really kill the lovely Malcolm, didn't you?

He was floating. Aware, yet cocooned. It felt – nice.

“Lieu...ant… eed… Mal....c’m. Can... hear me?”

His mind nodded. His body – well, he didn’t know. He couldn’t feel a thing.

Except – just _there_ , at the very edge. A sharp sensation, like the flash from a lighthouse in a storm. Something. Pulling him. Insistently.

He tried to object. For the first time he was aware of a physical sensation; a slight, uncomfortable rasping in the throat. 

So. Not dead, then. That was unexpected.

Something cold dribbled his lips. He tried to flinch. Might even have succeeded, actually.

“Take it easy, Lieutenant.” Archer’s voice sounded hoarse, but the words were distinct enough. It would be polite, he supposed, to open his eyes.

The effort was exhausting. Blurred shapes swam across his line of sight, something blue and gold coalescing as it moved closer, stooping to shield his stinging orbs from Sickbay’s stark white glare. “’rip.”

“’s me. No, don’t try to move, you’ll disturb Doc’s creepy-crawly collection and he swears they’re doin’ you some good. How’re you feelin’, buddy?”

“Not sure.” Those larger, darker shapes behind must be the Captain and Phlox, Reed decided, absurdly pleased by the modest deduction. “Wha’ happened?”

His voice sounded far-away. Something scraped his top lip. 

“You should try to drink, Lieutenant.” They were looming in on him now – Phlox, all white-blue eyes and plummy concern; Archer, dark, massive, solid, a sandstone mountain. He didn’t mind – he’d never been claustrophobic – but it made focussing so much more tiresome, and oh, he was tired!

“There was an assassination attempt, Malcolm.” Singsong, he thought. Archer thought he needed a lullaby. It’d be quite nice, actually. 

Distracted by the thought, he only caught a fragment of the man’s next words. “High Priest…ceremonial guardsman… saved his life.”

He had? “That’s nice, sir,” Reed said vaguely, fascinated by the tingling sensation that was running up his arm. Tentative, he tried to shake it. 

Pressure eased on his fingers. He hadn’t realised they were being squeezed. “Um, sorry. Was I hurtin’ you?”

“No.” Nothing hurt. Surely that was wrong?

The pressure returned, warm and oddly comforting. Trip, he concluded. Holding his hand. “’s nice.”

His eyelids were drooping. “You should get some rest, Malcolm.” His shoulder was squeezed. “We can talk when you’re feeling better.”

“’m fine, sir.”

Through the cotton wool stuffing his ears he distinctly heard a strangled snort, and the grip around his fingers tightened. “Yeah, right.”

Trip, upset. That rang bells. Malcolm’s sluggish brain tried to prod his leaden limbs into action.

Pain ripped out through his ribcage. Inside his head, he screamed.

“Easy.” He couldn’t unscrew his eyes but he didn’t need them to identify the owner of the heavenly strong arm around his shoulders; the woodsy scent that filled his nostrils was enough. Trip eased him back toward the pillow and Malcolm forced himself to focus on the soothing nonsense being crooned, not the nauseous feeling that rolled up through his aching guts. “You’ll be disturbin’ the bugs. It’s okay, I’ve got you, it’s alright.”

Darkness was closing around him again. Desperately Reed fought it, long lashes fluttering like the wings of a terrified bird. His fingers twitched. 

“We’ll let your patient rest, Doctor.”

The voice was distant, almost drowned by the squeak-thud of boots on the spotless floor. Panic rose like vomit against his throat. This time, even he heard the pathetic whimper of “Trip!” that breached his cracking lips.

Across the biobed, two pairs of blue eyes locked. The doctor’s dipped first.

“I’m here, Mal. It’s okay, babe, I’m goin’ nowhere.” Warm breath ruffled his hair; a pair of soft lips smoothed the creases from his brow. With a look that dared his audience to object, Trip Tucker hopped up onto the neighbouring bed without releasing his grip on Reed, their joined hands swinging in the narrow space between. For several moments, nobody moved.

Then the doctor nodded, and to Jonathan Archer it seemed his ship lurched right to warp 5 from a dead stop. “I did warn you he’d be disorientated,” the Denobulan murmured. Archer thrust a hand through his sandy hair.

“I’m just happy to have him back, Phlox,” he said quietly, one eye on his best friend’s haggard face. “I’d better go inform the Calidi. You’ll call me when he comes round again?”

“Immediately.” Phlox too was regarding the engineer with more concern than his official patient. “Get some sleep, Commander. He’s still quite heavily sedated so I wouldn’t anticipate any activity before the morning, but of course if you’d rather spend the night here…”

“Thanks, Doc.” They knew. Johnny probably always had. Trip didn’t care.

Carefully he swung their linked hands his way, leaning off the edge of the bed to run his lips over the lax fingers in his grip. “Sweet dreams, darlin’” he whispered before rolling back, trying to find a comfortable position that didn’t mean letting go. 

Because no way in hell was he ever letting Malcolm Reed go again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm's on the road to recovery. Trip's discovering he's been a tad transparent. And Captain Archer is having an interesting day...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a sequel inspired by the idea which struck me that the end of this chapter. A totally pointless, smutty sequel I hasten to add!

Pain. Yes, he knew he was alive now. Being dead wouldn’t hurt this bloody much.

“Mal?”

And nobody would sound so worried. His mouth turned up of its own volition. “Trip?” he croaked.

“The one an’ only.” He caught the squeak and creak of movement nearby and his head tilted toward it. “C’mon, open those pretty eyes for me, that’s right.”

The world, Reed discovered, was no longer fluffy and undefined. And it sodding well hurt.

“Ow! _Bloody_ hell!”

“Welcome back, Lieutenant – and please don’t shuffle about, your injuries will hurt a great deal more if you disturb the eel, you know how sensitive she is when she’s working.”

“Why does he always have to sound so bloody cheerful when I’m in fucking agony?”

For some reason his ill-humour only made his friends smile wider. “’cause we’re glad to have you back and whinin’, Lieutenant,” Trip replied happily as he brushed a stray curl back from Malcolm’s brow. “It’s been too quiet without y’ all week.”

The throbbing pain all over couldn’t compete with the sickening thud through his chest as Reed considered the meaning of those words. “All _week?_ ” he asked faintly. The fingers still tickling his forehead stilled.

“You remember what happened, right?” Tucker enquired, locking eyes with the narrowed pair of the doctor opposite. “Calidi, the assassination attempt…”

“You were pierced through the ribcage by the assassin’s ceremonial spear, Lieutenant.” Breaking bad news gently; doctors were supposed to be good at it, weren’t they?

Not, Reed decided as the room blurred and his head went light, Denobulan ones. “It penetrated your lung, but don’t be alarmed: the Tarkelian Tissue Spider found his way out last night and a couple more sessions of eel therapy will have you back on your feet with barely a scar. I’ll show you the wound when you’re a little more _flexible_ , but at the moment I’d recommend lying still and letting our young friend do her job.”

Knowing the creature was there he had to shift and peer, which sent fire spearing through his core. “Bollocks!”

Still, the scream of pain through his body certainly had a cleansing effect in his befuddled brain. “I saw a flash – metal,” he ground between clenched teeth. “The priest?”

“A little squashed; and he had a remarkably accurate copy of his ceremonial belt bruised into his midriff for a few days, but no life-threatening injuries.” Briefly the sparkle left Phlox’s large, over-bright eyes and Tucker would swear Sickbay’s ambient temperature dropped five degrees. “Thanks entirely to you. We’ve been receiving deputations from the planet every two hours.”

“We’re still in orbit?” That particular lurch didn’t come from his wound, Reed decided. That one emanated lower, from somewhere in the pit of his stomach. “But I thought…”

“Easy.” When he would have bolted up Tucker stayed him with a hand, and as his muscles spasmed painfully he managed a weak smile by way of thanks. “The Calidi wouldn’t let us break orbit with you in danger. Somethin’ about the jump to warp adversely affectin’ the cell membranes.”

“Never done me any harm before.” Even if he ached all over Malcolm would not ask for drugs. Pain kept the mind sharp, and he was acutely aware of being lost in a fog for too long. “Can I sit up?”

“Carefully. Commander, if you’d be so kind…”

They were as gentle as possible, Reed knew that. The eel suckered onto his torso didn’t flinch while he was manipulated into a semi-seated position, his back supported by a stack of cushions. Yet pain spread like a puddle from belly to breast and he could only sag, limp as a doll in Tucker’s strong arms while the doctor fussed about with the bed settings. “You should try and drink something too, Lieutenant,” Phlox advised. The tip of his tongue sweeping cracked lips, Malcolm nodded.

Which sent him light-headed and made him clutch at his superior officer’s hand. When Trip squeezed gently, he decided through nausea’s swirls that he’d have to do it again sometime.

“We’ll be free to leave the system as soon as the Calidi have completed their ceremony and Captain Archer’s back aboard,” the Denobulan informed him, and though he wanted to be polite Reed found he couldn’t respond with a straw jammed in between his teeth, cool liquid spilling over his tongue. “It’s the highest mark of respect they can give according to Commander T’Pol that they’re allowing a proxy to participate in the ritual on your behalf.”

Obviously his mind, Malcolm decided, wasn’t as clear as he though. “Ritual?” he rasped, drained by the mere effort of shoving the straw away. Surely Phlox wasn’t supposed to be that striking rust colour?

“It’s only natural the Calidi want to honour the man who saved their high priest’s life, Mal.” Nobody had ever called him that. He would, Reed determined, ensure nobody else ever thought they had the right in future. “’And relax – Cap’n’s due back anytime now.”

“Right here, Commander.” Trip had gone a funny colour too, Malcolm noticed absently, and that odd squealing noise was the soles of his boots as he rocked, like a small boy in dire need of the bathroom. Jonathan Archer on the other hand…

“Captain?” The Calidi ritual must have involved a squadron of the Undead at the very least. Archer looked like a man who’d just seen a whole platoon of irate ghouls. 

“Hey, Malcolm. How’re you feeling?”

“Sore, sir.” Archer gave the eel as wide a berth as Trip, skirting the bed to loom over Reed’s left side, the hand he laid on his subordinate’s shoulder uncharacteristically unsteady. “Is something the matter? You seem uncomfortable.”

Trip wasn’t quite quick enough to turn his guffaw into a convincing coughing fit. 

“I’m okay.” If that wasn’t captain-speak for fine, his mother was a nightclub bouncer named Neville in disguise. “And, uh, the monarchs of Calidi have asked me, uh, that is, I’ve been given the power to bestow the Most High and Noble Order of the - whatever the hell it was on you.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Though it was difficult to tell with his eyes gritting up under a renewed wave of drowsiness that sent him giddy, he thought Archer flushed burnt umber, and the squeak of his soles added to the harmony being played by the chief engineer’s. “I, umm, that is, there’s a ceremony attached you have to go through, Malcolm,” the bigger man burbled, looking anywhere, it seemed, but into the glazing eyes of the man he addressed. “It’s, ahem, well, it’ll wait ‘til you’re back on your feet, alright?”

“If you say so, sir.” The hand he raised to stifle his yawn felt leaden; the only sensation that wasn’t blurred was the sudden vibration through his chest. “Doctor, I think… your assistant’s ready for a rest.”

“I think my patient is too.” Tucker winced as the osmotic eel released her grip on his friend’s torso to slide like a sack of gelatine into the Denobulan’s cupped palm. “Don’t argue with your physician, Lieutenant: you’ve suffered a severe trauma and you need your rest. Mister Tucker will be back later, I’m sure.”

“Soon as he wakes up, just holler.” They were all smiling, blast their eyes, but Malcolm felt too weary to protest as decency demanded he should. On a snuffling sigh he allowed himself to be carefully manoeuvred into a prone position, asleep before two pairs of gentle hands withdrew.

“You gonna tell him about that ceremony, Cap’n?” 

Across the biobed the two friends regarded each other, undisturbed by the doctor’s curiosity or the patient’s gentle snores. “The proxy can appoint a proxy, Commander,” Archer said simply. Hot colour rushed from the soles of Trip Tucker’s unpolished size elevens.

“Uh, maybe we should leave it, then,” he stammered, fleeing Sickbay without a boot up his backside for the first time in a week. “I’ve, er, gotta go scrub the plasma conduits. Or somethin’. Call me when he comes ‘round, okay?”

“Of course, Commander.” Purse-lipped, Phlox swung to face his commanding officer. “If I may say so, sir, that was rather cruel.”

“If he’s not going to make a move for himself, Phlox, what’s wrong with giving a little push?” Under his C.M.O’s disapproving stare Archer dipped his eyes to the slumbering brunet. “And it’s one hell of a pick-up line: _hey Malcolm, Cap’n’s asked me to present the Calidi Order of the Perfumed Loincloth. You mind if I just wash your dick before I wrap it?_ ”

“If that’s a human pick-up line, Captain, I’m more pleased than ever to have been born on Denobula.” Still, the stern set of Phlox’s fleshy lips softened and he ushered the other man to the door with a kindly hand on his arm. “I have every faith in our Mr Tucker. He’s had a nasty fright seeing Lieutenant Reed so seriously hurt. I’m optimistic.”

“You’re never anything else, Doc.” With a spring in his step, Jonathan Archer sauntered off toward the bridge with recent humiliations forgotten. Maybe it was Phlox’s cheery presence; maybe the look on his best friend’s face when he’d leaned over the bed to smile at a sleepy armoury officer. This time, he dared to think that sanguine confidence might even be justified.

And if it wasn’t – well, there was always the Calidi ceremony!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm's on the mend, and doesn't Trip know it!

“Dammit Malcolm, you were more fun in a coma! You’re home now, so will you please quit whinin’ like a bratty five-year-old!”

Across the minimal space of the Armoury Officer’s spartan cabin Trip Tucker glowered at the man he had secretly adored for what felt like a lifetime. Caught in the act of easing his aching body into bed, Reed scowled at him.

“It’s hardly my fault Phlox locked the drugs cabinet,” he groused, the words whistling between clenched teeth. “And if you find my company so uncongenial you shouldn’t have volunteered for nanny duty.”

“Well forgive me for bein’ considerate, Lieutenant.” Damn, he was hiding behind ranks now, the very thing he hated to see his friend do. “Doc wouldn’t let you out without a nursemaid. If you’d’ve preferred Cutler, or the Cap’n... I just figured maybe you’d be more comfortable with a friend.”

“If I wasn’t _comfortable_ with you I’d be getting horribly polite and stiff-upper-lipped, I suppose.” His mattress gave satisfactorily, cradling his weight as Malcolm settled into his accustomed half-curled sleeping position. “And I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m being a twat. But Phlox is being a fusspot again, you don’t have to stay and bathe my fevered brow. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“That’s not what the Doc says.” He hoped he wasn’t glowing at the implicit compliment as he slumped into the single desk chair, arms loosely folded across his broad chest. “And I – just go with it, Malcolm. Please.”

Possibly for the first time in the three days he had been conscious Malcolm really looked at the haggard face of Enterprise’s cocky chief engineer, taking in the smudges and lines left by utter exhaustion. And he surrendered.

“All right. Sorry. Make yourself some coffee if you want; and there’s probably half a chocolate cake in the top drawer.”

“Thanks.” Too polite, Tucker considered. As if that most abrasive of invalids was afraid of offending him. “Tea?”

“Phlox said nothing caffeinated.”

“Ignore him. You want tea, you have it.”

“In that case… your name will be taken in vain should there be repercussions. Commander.”

“’s the burden of rank.” That raised a laugh that ended much too soon, and with a long hand pressed to the neat circular scar that marked the Englishman’s pale skin. “Sorry. Anythin’ I can do?”

“Unless you want to explain why the captain blushes every time he comes near me, not really.”

The tone was so mild, the look in the grey eyes so innocent, that it took the meaning of the words a few moments to permeate a mind preoccupied with boiling kettles, teabags and coffee spoons. And when it did, Trip was too stunned to react with anything but his inimitable Tucker brand of honesty.

“Guess he’s still thinkin’ about havin’ his dick washed on your behalf by a walkin’ alien whale. Don’t worry – Johnny’s a big boy. He can take it.”

Deafening silence. Malcolm had always wondered what the expression meant. “I beg your pardon?” he managed faintly.

In slow motion, giving them both time to think, Trip turned. “You’re a member of the Most High antd Noble Order of the Perfumed Loincloth now. Hell, you ever heard of anythin’ so goddamn crazy?”

“Trip. I’m British.” Seeing only good old American bemusement, Malcolm pushed himself up against his pillows and ticked off the oldest orders of chivalry on his fingers. “The Most Noble Order of the Garter. The Order of the Bath. You take my point?”

“Betcha don’t need your dick polishin’ to get into _them_.”

“They did abandon the ritual bathing a while ago,” Reed conceded over the hum of the boiling kettle. “Two sugars, please. Good Lord, if I’d been fit enough...”

“They’ve only allowed a proxy t’ undergo the ritual twice before.” Absently stirring in his friend’s milk and sugar gave Tucker time to consider the phrasing of his next announcement. “Least this way you get a human to do the job for you.”

His fingers curled supportively around the patient’s wrist, neither noticing the hot liquid that sloshed over the rim to scald both men. “I’m expected to... well, you can send the Calidi my apologies because _that’s_ not going to happen!”

“We can figure somethin’ out when you’re back on your feet,” Tucker soothed, his blunt fingertips giving a comforting massage to the tender flesh of the inner wrist beneath them. “Cap’n kinda wanted me to mention it, you bein’ the strategist and all.”

A single sable brow was cocked at him. “I don’t suppose Captain Integrity would consider lying through his teeth?” Reed suggested, not altogether hopefully. 

“Maybe.” He’d already been told that wasn’t possible but with Malcolm looking up at him so appealingly Trip didn’t have the heart to say so. “Apparently the proxy’s supposed to perform the ritual, but he can appoint a proxy of his own. Must get awfully complicated.”

“And embarrassing. Can’t we just turn down the honour? Get them to send me a bunch of flowers?”

“No dice, buddy. Not after Johnny had to bare his butt to a whole alien temple.” The bed squeaked as he settled on the corner, carefully removing the forgotten mug from Malcolm’s hand. The Englishman quirked a reluctant half-smile.

“I suppose not. Anyway, the way my luck’s running if they _did_ send a bouquet it’d probably send my allergies haywire.”

“Hey, your luck’s better than you think. You’re still here.”

Though his lips were smiling, Tucker’s eyes and tone were deadly serious. “Yes,” Malcolm whispered, held captive by those dark aqua orbs. He licked his lips. “I am.”

The ship was tilting. Until his mouth covered the other man’s Trip didn’t realise the subtle movement was all his.

For a moment, frozen in time, they hung suspended. Then Malcolm’s sigh whispered against his chin as the brunet’s mouth drifted open, beginning to move, oh so carefully, against his.

Then strong hands came up to link at his nape and Tucker had to steady himself, one hand pressed flat into the mattress while the other stroked through his friend’s soft sable hair. His head was spinning. The need to pinch himself hovered fuzzily at the back of his mind.

It faded away when he was reluctantly released to find himself gazing down into eyes of the purest polished silver. “That’s better than Phlox’s good stuff,” Reed murmured, breathlessness making him husky. “But why…”

Such an obvious question, yet it appeared to flummox one of the most intelligent men he knew. “’Because I care for you, Malcolm,” Trip managed at last. “And because what you said on the shuttle… well, it kinda made me think maybe you feel the same about me.”

He was blushing. Malcolm knew that because he could feel the heat crawling like a dozen spiders up his throat. “I’m afraid I don’t remember,” he floundered, feeling himself start to squirm. 

He’d have to get embarrassed more often, he decided, if Trip would kiss it away so sweetly every time. “You said you were glad,” the Southerner whispered. “The last thing… glad it was me. Hell, if you’re tryin’ to break a guy’s heart, Mr Reed, that’s the way to do it! I’ve wanted you so long and never dared tell y', then, right at death’s door, you say _that!_ ”

Wanted him. Trip wanted him.

Moving with the stealth he usually reserved for ambush operations Malcolm inched a hand from between their bodies and ghosted it along his other arm. Then he pinched. Hard.

“Ow!”

Tucker jerked back so hard he almost fell of the bed. “Whatcha go doin' _that_ for?” he yelped. Reed gave him a beatific smile.

“Just checking. I’m neither dead nor dreaming, am I?”

The blond shuddered. “Don’t even joke about it. I’m gonna have nightmares for months about bein’ soaked in your blood.”

“I’ll try not to make a mess next time.” 

Immediately he knew the joke had fallen flat. “Sorry. I’m a bit discumknockerated, that’s all. You – seriously? You care about me _that_ way?”

“Every way there is.”

“Gosh.” 

He sounded, Malcolm mused, like an Edwardian schoolboy. And when Trip’s handsome face lit with _that_ silly, giddy smile, he didn’t care. “It’s mutual,” he admitted, dropping his stinging eyes. “I didn’t want to die without….”

“Ssshhh, nobody’s gonna die, it’s okay.” Vulnerable. It wasn’t a word many people would associate with Enterprise’s tough-as-old-boots armoury chief, but Trip knew better. He eased his buttocks more fully onto the bed, gathering its occupant up against his chest and cradling him there, his breath whispering through the silky dark brown hair. “And somethin’ good’s come out of the whole thing, because now I’ve got you, no way in hell am I lettin’ go.”

“Please don’t.” For the first time since entering Calidi’s great temple he felt warm. And, Malcolm reflected, for the first time in his life – _safe_.

Full, malleable lips grazed across his temple. “How about you returnin’ the compliment, Mal? Being the last thing I see before I close my eyes tonight?”

Silently Malcolm slipped the zipper down his beloved’s chest, waiting until the bigger man had shucked himself free of his coverall’s sleeves before despatching the black undershirt with a shaky hand. “You’ll have to get up for the rest,” he murmured, giving his lush lashes a coy downward sweep.

He was placed between cool sheets and left to drool while Tucker disrobed down to his standard issue skivvies before slipping in at his side, arms loosely wrapped around the smaller man, the dusting of fine hairs along their limbs snagging pleasantly with every breath. “I could get used to this,” Trip rumbled, the words reverberating through his back. Moving tentatively in deference to the unimportant throbbing through his trunk, Malcolm turned to press his face into a muscular shoulder. “But wouldn't you be more comfortable kinda spooned?”

“Possibly.” Pain or lingering weakness might be making him sleepy, Reed acknowledged, but if he were given the choice, he’d put this sudden wash of exhaustion down to an overload of unfamiliar emotion. “But I’d like to know you’re going to be the first thing I see in the morning, I think.”

The bedsprings squealed under their combined weight; from the central ache beneath his ribcage tendrils of dull sensation rippled out with every move his companion made. Somehow he wound up sprawled over Trip’s torso, his nose nestled in the crook of the American’s neck. 

“Sounds like a good idea,” Trip agreed, coming to rest with his hip against the solid bulkhead. Closing his eyes, Malcolm let fatigue overtake him. Waking up tomorrow was something he was very much looking forward to.

He would, he knew, open his eyes and look right into his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a totally smutty sequel to follow - thank you for reading!


End file.
